


Scars May Fade In Time, But They Never Truly Heal

by polche



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Bonding, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polche/pseuds/polche
Summary: Robin and Libra are in a relationship, but unlike the rest of the Shepherds, they can barely even hold hands. Despite this, the unnaturally cheerful boy they rescue from a pack of Risen claims to be their son.





	Scars May Fade In Time, But They Never Truly Heal

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally planned as a Libra-centric fic, but you can see how I messed that one up. That said, I do believe that narratively, it's better for it.

The rumors of noises in an abandoned temple of Naga turned out to be a pack of Risen, groaning and screaming as they clawed their way towards a scrawny boy hidden among the crumbling remains. He had set magical traps, and he knew some healing, but there had simply been too many, and the Shepherds had come just in time.

After the last of the vile creatures finally fell, Chrom told the boy he was safe now. The boy crawled out of his hiding place, and he looked even worse than Robin had been able to tell from her vantage point during the battle. He was caked in oily black Risen blood, and his skin sagged loosely over the contours of his small skull. His clothes, however much of them Robin could distinguish, sagged and folded with an abundance of fabric over a small frame. Nevertheless, he was smiling; giggling even.

“Hehe, sorry about that, I’m usually a bit better prepared,” he told Chrom cheerfully.

Chrom blinked, confused, not unlike the time Henry had defected to their ranks. The child didn’t seem unlike him; the same devil-may-care attitude and inappropriate smiles graced his face. Unlike Henry, the child had none of the specter of dark magic over him. Magic, yes, as shown in the ratty, well-worn tome he clutched in his hands; as well as the various traps he’d set that had frozen Risen legs to the floor, charred their hides or made their arms spasm to the point they could no longer hold their weapons. But the sickly miasma, the dark wisps, the slight undulation in the shadows like air on a hot day that Robin knew marked someone with the aptitude were nowhere to be seen.

Chrom was about to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, doubtless to ask him if he's well, but the boy’s gaze had danced across the Shepherd’s faces during Robin’s reverie, landing on her own, and he bounced away, hobbling towards her.

“Mother!” he shouted, his eyes bright in their dark holes. “I thought I'd never see you again!”

He halted his unsteady gait an arm’s length in front of her, and looked up at her with pure, unfiltered adoration. Robin had no answer. After Lucina, more of the Shepherds’ future progeny had been found, returned from the future, but never in all her plans had she expected her own to be among them.

“Are you sure?” she said hoarsely.

“Of course! Like I could ever forget my own mother!” The boy’s big smile suddenly faded, and deep thoughts clouded his eyes. “...Although, I don’t seem to remember my father. Or how I ended up here. But I’m sure there’s a good reason for that! It’d be a little too perfect if _time travel_ went off without a hitch, right?” His smile returned as quickly as it had vanished.

“Lucina and the others remember everything perfectly,” Robin countered.

“Oh.” His expression betrayed only a vague understanding. “Wow, I didn’t expect there to be others. Then again, if _I_ can do it, why couldn’t someone else?” He shrugged, and reached into his robes to procure a signet ring. Other than some marks from wear and age, it matched Robin’s exactly. “Anyway, this is yours,” he said with a smile. “I found it on your body. But you _gave_ me this tome!”

After returning the ring to its place on his person, the boy shoved his book into Robin’s hands. It felt like it would fall apart at a touch, even one of Robin’s feather-light ones. The spine was so cracked, it looked like it would give any moment, and though evidence of decoration remained, no amount of sleuthing could piece together what it might have been, and the rest of the cover was in no better shape. The inside, however, was almost meticulously preserved; only the yellowing of the pages a hint to their age. The writing was without a doubt, Robin’s own hand, and even the shorthand she’d developed to be able to write more in less time, was exactly the same. She had not passed that knowledge on to anyone else. Yet, apparently.

“Can I...?” she asked the boy.

“Keep it! The real thing is way better, anyway!”

She swallowed. This boy, whether he was her son or not, was definitely someone important to to a version of her she could in no way imagine. 

* * *

After a brief discussion with Chrom, they had decided to take him into their ranks. They had cleaned him up, but even after all the blood and dirt had been washed away, there was nothing about the boy that had sparked any recognition. She’d thought that it may have just been the results of the battle, but even clean, the boy’s hair was coarse and dark, in stark opposition to her own, or that of her lover. His eyes were also darker than theirs, and his features much softer and rounder, though she theorized that could simply be due to his youth.

She had taken him to their tent - slowly, as it turned out the boy had a lame leg - to introduce him and his father to one another.

“I’m Morgan! Sorry for forgetting you, but it’s nice to meet you again, father!” the boy said cheerfully, extending a hand.

Libra looked at him for a second, his features as smooth and unreadable as always, then placidly smiled as he took the hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

A less observant person would have missed the shadow of doubt that flashed across Libra’s eyes, even as the rest of his face remained unmoved.

It was that shadow that spurred Robin to talk with him, after Morgan had burned out his excitement and fallen asleep. They stood, facing each other, the foot of distance between them an invisible, unyielding wall.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but...” she mumbled.

“He’s not mine,” Libra said, softly, but with an edge to his voice.

“He must be. If I...” Robin bit her lip and tried again. “There could be no one but you. If not right now, then maybe in the future, we’ll be able to...”

“It’s simply not possible.”

Robin raised a hand, desperate to grab hold of Libra’s sleeve, but his minute flinch stayed her.

“Alright,” she said. “But please, don’t let this divide us.”

Libra nodded. “I’m just surprised.” He wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he never did.

* * *

Robin awoke from another nightmare to the sound of prayer. She felt cold and hot at the same time, and her skin crawled with the sensation of maggots burrowing through her flesh. The dragon had been inside her mind again, whispering, pleading, threatening. But now, with Libra’s favorite verse, repeating over and over, she found herself unable to remember its words.

“Libra,” she whispered through the bile in her throat.

The prayer stopped. “Nuh-uh,” came Morgan’s voice, softer than she’d ever heard it. “I’m glad it still calms you down.”

Her body moved of its own accord, rolling over to create space between herself and the unknown variable, long before she managed to force her eyes open.

“Morgan,” she mumbled, desperately forcing her heart to calm.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he said with a smile. “You just looked so ...scared.” His fingers were coiled around a ring of prayer beads; twelve semi-opaque marbles, each containing one of the faith’s core tenets, interspersed with fully opaque marbles. Even as he talked, his delicate fingers pushed and twirled the beads, and Robin realized he must be truly nervous despite his cheerful demeanor.

“No harm done,” she said. “Thank you.”

* * *

Morgan insisted he help the army, even if he was initially weakened by malnutrition and unable to run. He was a practiced healer, and it was obvious the future’s Robin had taught him many of her tricks, so Chrom allowed him, but insisted he stay at the rear with Lissa, Maribelle and Brady. Lissa liked him, and instantly accepted him as Robin’s son and a fellow Shepherd. Maribelle had her doubts, but she could hardly refute the Prince and Princess in their decisions. Brady was scared of him. He was raised better than to say as much, but he nevertheless avoided the boy when they were both on duty.

Lucina hadn’t recognized him. No child of Robin’s had followed her through Naga’s portal, and she had assumed none existed. Of course, that was because in her reality, Robin had been the one who had caused Grima’s revival, and even in this reality Lucina still didn’t fully trust her. Robin didn’t blame her. With the nightmares and its toxic words snaking their way into her head, under her skin, Robin didn’t fully trust herself, either.

Morgan proved he had a sharp mind. He missed things Robin didn’t, but he also did have a knack for turning an unwinnable situation around. The first time he defeated Virion at chess, he’d managed to shock the archer into speechlessness.

“How did you do that?” Robin asked him, equally surprised, but able to hide it better.

Morgan grinned and tapped his forehead. “You’ve got to make them think you’re gonna do one thing, then do another! You taught me that!”

* * *

When he wasn’t healing, studying or getting to know the Shepherds, Morgan liked to join Libra in prayer. He was similarly regimented, and they shared much the same habits; evidence which pointed to Libra having been an important part of Morgan’s youth. But even if his rituals were ingrained deep into his mind, Morgan found Libra himself little more than a stranger he met for the first time.

Libra admitted quietly, just once, that he preferred it that way. They could connect as strangers sharing similar lives: not too close.

He asked Morgan once why he prayed, and what he prayed for.

“To keep the darkness at bay,” Morgan said with a smile and a shrug.

Libra started calling him “son” then.

* * *

They met Plegia’s tactician. Robin managed to keep her calm during the event, but shut down when the Shepherds had returned to safety.

She collapsed on the floor as soon as she’d entered their tent, unable to breathe but for short, staggered heaves. Her composure failed her and the darkness that always surrounded her gripped hold tight of her arms and legs, leaving her a twitching. When she wasn’t whimpering, trying to yell at the dragon that stole her face and voice to leave her alone, she was retching. The morning’s rations left her, and she could only pray some of the corruption left with it, but it wasn’t enough. She vomited until she spent even her bile.

Libra wrapped his arms around her for the first time, then.

“That wasn’t you,” he said when she finally realized he was there.

She didn’t tell him that it still could be.

* * *

The first wall broken and having seen the worst of Robin’s by far, Libra allowed her to see his.

He sat patiently, ignoring all his instincts to fight and run as she traced the lines of the grim canvas on his back. She followed them all, letting her tears fall free as she imagined but did not ask the reasons they were there.

“Thank you,” she said when he put his robes back on. There were no other words.

They didn’t kiss. Neither of them knew for sure if that could come in time or if such a thing would always be a bridge too far. There were so many more walls between them.

Robin conceded, finally, that Morgan was not Libra’s by blood. They both had questions, of course, but the possible answers left too bitter a taste in their mouths to speak them out loud. 

* * *

The Shepherds had been caught in a pincer attack: Grimleal forces ahead, and Risen chasing their tail. Robin had underestimated the amount of enemies, and had her hands full preventing the Grimleal from breaking through their ranks, leaving only a relatively small group to defend their rear. In the end, it had been Morgan’s quick thinking that had allowed them to emerge victorious, wounded but alive. He’d told the medics to restructure the cots and tents into a makeshift stockade, filtering and slowing the Risen so they were easier to pick off with medics’ magic and Noire’s arrows, especially as Morgan set his elemental traps in the space in between. It had still been a long and tiring battle, and Owain and Inigo had been forced to beat Grima’s beasts back with found sticks and poles after all their weapons had given out and both Lissa and Maribelle had no more energy to fling spells with, but that made the eventual victory taste so much sweeter. Owain gave an epic speech to Morgan’s wit when the last Risen fell and even Brady had given him a wet hug.

“H-how do you keep such a clear head?” Noire asked him in her small, trembling voice. “...All I could think of was running...”

Morgan just laughed. “I can’t, though, can I?” he said, pointing cheerfully at his leg.

“Oh… I’m sorry...”

Morgan laughed again, and shook his head. “I don’t mind! Mother always said I don’t need to have fast legs, as long as I have a fast mind. So if we’re still here, I’m doing good!”

* * *

During an insomnia night, Robin was stirred from her maps and charts by muffled whimpering coming from within their tent. Libra had his nightmares without noise, their effect only visible in the shadows of his eyes the following morning, so she rose to check on Morgan. Libra was already on his knees at the boy’s side, praying for his peace of mind. Robin made a small noise to let him know she was there and joined him.

After some time, during which the mantra had worked its magic on Robin’s own heavy heart as well, Morgan’s breath slowed and he settled back into a calmer sleep. Robin turned to Libra and looked into his eyes. Reflected in their acid green were her own frustration, exhaustion and worries. About the future, about the two of them, about the unspoken darkness that lurked in both their hearts. She took his hand and he didn’t pull away.

* * *

Morgan awoke the next morning to find that his parents had dragged their sleeping mats next to his, and had fallen asleep holding his hands. They rose easily once he stirred.

“You had a nightmare,” Robin said gently, the haze of sleep barely in her voice.

Morgan nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Libra asked, equally soft.

“It’s nothing,” Morgan said with Libra’s deceitful smile. “Just a nightmare.”

Libra handed the boy his prayer beads. “Join me for morning prayer, please, and after… please tell us what’s on your mind.”

* * *

“It was the last thing I remember before I came here,” Morgan said, his voice unnaturally reserved. His eyes looked far away, to the world he’d left behind. “They attacked, and you lead the way out. You wanted to get us safe, and I couldn’t move fast enough, so you told me to hide.”

Morgan twisted the beads through his fingers rhythmically as he spoke. “I did; I hid really well. I waited a whole day after there was no more noise and smell before I came out. They were gone, but so were you… You taught me how to track, so I followed you. It wasn’t easy, ‘cause of all the blood and ash a-and rocks and destruction, but I found you.”

One of his hands reached for the signet ring he wore on a rope around his neck.

“I tried to...” He shook his head and pulled his hand back. “Of course, it was already too late. I found the others, too. Most of them, at least. I don’t know if I found Father. I can’t remember.

“So, there wasn’t anything else I could do, so I went back home, and I lit a candle, and I prayed. And I prayed, and I prayed and I _prayed_ and it was so, so lonely!” He choked out a small sob. “And I thought Blessed Naga couldn’t hear me anymore, ‘cause it was so bad and She must be focused on so many other more important things! But then I heard your voices,” he said calmer, with a watery smile. “And I was here. And it was good.”

Robin pulled him into her arms. Her heart pounded like it was about to burst and her skin crawled with the unfamiliar sensation of another’s arms restricting her, blocking her way out, but she forced it down. Morgan’s quiet sobs proved he needed her.

“I’m so blessed to have found you again,” he said so softly, Robin, even with her head inches from his, could barely hear it.

“ _We’re_ blessed that you found us,” she said, her hand hovering over his hair.

* * *

Morgan says his mother told him the scars on his leg prove that he's part of their family. Father has them on his back, mother on her heart. All of his brothers and sisters had them too, somewhere, and he carries them with him now.

And Robin and Libra agree: Morgan is theirs. Maybe not by blood, but by something deeper and stronger than that.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something that portrays my headcanons of both Robin and Libra as deeply traumatized, touch-averse people, and the way they cope.
> 
> In case it's not obvious, the reason Morgan could not possibly be Libra's by blood is because he's a trans man in this fic. Morgan is an orphan they adopted.


End file.
